Enter ARMADO and MOTH

ARMADO. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

[MOTH sings Concolinel]

ARMADO. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give

enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must

employ him in a letter to my love.

MOTH. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

ARMADO. How meanest thou? Brawling in French?

MOTH. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's

end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your

eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the

throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime

through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love,

with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes, with

your arms cross'd on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit on a

spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old

painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.

These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice

wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men

of note- do you note me?- that most are affected to these.

ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience?

MOTH. By my penny of observation.

ARMADO. But O- but O-

MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot.

ARMADO. Call'st thou my love 'hobby-horse'?

MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love

perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

ARMADO. Almost I had.

MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart.

ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy.

MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove.

ARMADO. What wilt thou prove?

MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the

instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by

her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with

her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you

cannot enjoy her.

ARMADO. I am all these three.

MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.

MOTH. A message well sympathiz'd- a horse to be ambassador for an

ass.

ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou?

MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is

very slow-gaited. But I go.

ARMADO. The way is but short; away.

MOTH. As swift as lead, sir.

ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.

ARMADO. I say lead is slow.

MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so:

Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?

ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he;

I shoot thee at the swain.

MOTH. Thump, then, and I flee. Exit

ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!

By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face;

Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.

My herald is return'd.

Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD

MOTH. A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin.

ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy; begin.

COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir.

O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no

salve, sir, but a plantain!

ARMADO. By virtue thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my

spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous

smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take

salve for l'envoy, and the word 'l'envoy' for a salve?

MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not l'envoy a salve?

ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.

I will example it:

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three.

There's the moral. Now the l'envoy.

MOTH. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again.

ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three.

MOTH. Until the goose came out of door,

And stay'd the odds by adding four.

Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three.

ARMADO. Until the goose came out of door,

Staying the odds by adding four.

MOTH. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more?

COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat.

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.

To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose;

Let me see: a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.

ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?

MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.

Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in;

Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;

And he ended the market.

ARMADO. But tell me: how was there a costard broken in a shin?

MOTH. I will tell you sensibly.

COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that

l'envoy.

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,

Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.

ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter.

COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin.

ARMADO. Sirrah Costard. I will enfranchise thee.

COSTARD. O, Marry me to one Frances! I smell some l'envoy, some

goose, in this.

ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,

enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained,

captivated, bound.

COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me

loose.

ARMADO. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in

lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this

significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta;

there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honour is

rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. Exit

MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my incony Jew!

Exit MOTH

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the

Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings- remuneration.

'What's the price of this inkle?'- 'One penny.'- 'No, I'll give

you a remuneration.' Why, it carries it. Remuneration! Why, it is

a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of

this word.

Enter BEROWNE

BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!

COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for

a remuneration?

BEROWNE. What is a remuneration?

COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.

COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi' you!

BEROWNE. Stay, slave; I must employ thee.

As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,

Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

COSTARD. When would you have it done, sir?

BEROWNE. This afternoon.

COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir; fare you well.

BEROWNE. Thou knowest not what it is.

COSTARD. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

BEROWNE. Why, villain, thou must know first.

COSTARD. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

BEROWNE. It must be done this afternoon.

Hark, slave, it is but this:

The Princess comes to hunt here in the park,

And in her train there is a gentle lady;

When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,

And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her,

And to her white hand see thou do commend

This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.

[Giving him a shilling]

COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a

'leven-pence farthing better; most sweet gardon! I will do it,

sir, in print. Gardon- remuneration! Exit

BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love; I, that have been love's whip;

A very beadle to a humorous sigh;

A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;

A domineering pedant o'er the boy,

Than whom no mortal so magnificent!

This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,

This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;

Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,

Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,

Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,

Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,

Sole imperator, and great general

Of trotting paritors. O my little heart!

And I to be a corporal of his field,

And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!

What! I love, I sue, I seek a wife-

A woman, that is like a German clock,

Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,

And never going aright, being a watch,

But being watch'd that it may still go right!

Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all;

And, among three, to love the worst of all,

A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,

With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;

Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,

Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard.

And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!

To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague

That Cupid will impose for my neglect

Of his almighty dreadful little might.

Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan:

Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. Exit

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ACT IV. SCENE I. The park

Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS, ATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was that the King that spurr'd his horse so

hard

Against the steep uprising of the hill?

BOYET. I know not; but I think it was not he.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whoe'er 'a was, 'a show'd a mounting mind.

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;

On Saturday we will return to France.

Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush

That we must stand and play the murderer in?

FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;

A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I thank my beauty I am fair that shoot,

And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.

FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What, what? First praise me, and again say no?

O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!

FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, never paint me now;

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.

Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:

[ Giving him money]

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.

O heresy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.

But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill,

And shooting well is then accounted ill;

Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:

Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;

If wounding, then it was to show my skill,

That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.

And, out of question, so it is sometimes:

Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,

When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,

We bend to that the working of the heart;

As I for praise alone now seek to spill

The poor deer's blood that my heart means no ill.

BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty

Only for praise sake, when they strive to be

Lords o'er their lords?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Only for praise; and praise we may afford

To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter COSTARD

BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that

have no heads.

COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The thickest and the tallest.

COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth.

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,

One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.

Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What's your will, sir? What's your will?

COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one

Lady Rosaline.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O, thy letter, thy letter! He's a good friend

of mine.

Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve.

Break up this capon.

BOYET. I am bound to serve.

This letter is mistook; it importeth none here.

It is writ to Jaquenetta.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We will read it, I swear.

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

BOYET. [Reads] 'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible;

true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely.

More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth

itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The

magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the

pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that

might rightly say, 'Veni, vidi, vici'; which to annothanize in

the vulgar,- O base and obscure vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw,

and overcame. He came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?-

the king. Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome.

To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar. Who

overcame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose

side?- the king's. The captive is enrich'd; on whose side?- the

beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side?- the

king's. No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so

stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy

lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy

love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou

exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles, for thyself?

-me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my

eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.

Thine in the dearest design of industry,

DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.

'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;

Submissive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play.

But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then?

Food for his rage, repasture for his den.'

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What plume of feathers is he that indited this

letter?

What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better?

BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it

erewhile.

BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;

A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport

To the Prince and his book-mates.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word.

Who gave thee this letter?

COSTARD. I told you: my lord.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it?

COSTARD. From my lord to my lady.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady?

COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine,

To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords,

away.

[To ROSALINE] Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another

day. Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN

BOYET. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?

ROSALINE. Shall I teach you to know?

BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty.

ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow.

Finely put off!

BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,

Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.

Finely put on!

ROSALINE. Well then, I am the shooter.

BOYET. And who is your deer?

ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.

Finely put on indeed!

MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the

brow.

BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?

ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man

when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit

it?

BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when

Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit

it.

ROSALINE. [Singing]

Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,

Thou canst not hit it, my good man.

BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot,

An I cannot, another can.

Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE

COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it!

MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.

BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!

Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.

MARIA. Wide o' the bow-hand! I' faith, your hand is out.

COSTARD. Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the

clout.

BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.

COSTARD. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.

MARIA. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.

COSTARD. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to

bowl.

BOYET. I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl.

Exeunt BOYET and MARIA

COSTARD. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown!

Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!

O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit!

When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.

Armado a th' t'one side- O, a most dainty man!

To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!

To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly 'a will swear!

And his page a t' other side, that handful of wit!

Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!

Sola, sola! Exit COSTARD

SCENE II. The park

From the shooting within, enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL

NATHANIEL. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of

a good conscience.

HOLOFERNES. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as

the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo,

the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on

the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.

NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly

varied, like a scholar at the least; but, sir, I assure ye it was

a buck of the first head.

HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

DULL. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

HOLOFERNES. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation,

as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were,

replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his

inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated,

unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest

unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

DULL. I Said the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

HOLOFERNES. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!

O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

NATHANIEL. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in

a book;

He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his

intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible

in the duller parts;

And such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should

be-

Which we of taste and feeling are- for those parts that do

fructify in us more than he.

For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,

So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school.

But, omne bene, say I, being of an old father's mind:

Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.

DULL. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit

What was a month old at Cain's birth that's not five weeks old as

yet?

HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

DULL. What is Dictynna?

NATHANIEL. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.

HOLOFERNES. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,

And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.

Th' allusion holds in the exchange.

DULL. 'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

HOLOFERNES. God comfort thy capacity! I say th' allusion holds in

the exchange.

DULL. And I say the polusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is

never but a month old; and I say, beside, that 'twas a pricket

that the Princess kill'd.

HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on

the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call the deer

the Princess kill'd a pricket.

NATHANIEL. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please

you to abrogate scurrility.

HOLOFERNES. I Will something affect the letter, for it argues

facility.

The preyful Princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing

pricket.

Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting.

The dogs did yell; put el to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket-

Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.

If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o' sorel.

Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.

NATHANIEL. A rare talent!

DULL. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a

talent.

HOLOFERNES. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish

extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects,

ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in

the ventricle of memory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater, and

delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in

those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.

NATHANIEL. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my

parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by you, and their

daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of

the commonwealth.

HOLOFERNES. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want

no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to

them; but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth

us.

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD

JAQUENETTA. God give you good morrow, Master Person.

HOLOFERNES. Master Person, quasi pers-one. And if one should be

pierc'd which is the one?

COSTARD. Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likest to a

hogshead.

HOLOFERNES. Piercing a hogshead! A good lustre of conceit in a turf

of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine; 'tis

pretty; it is well.

JAQUENETTA. Good Master Parson, be so good as read me this letter;

it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I

beseech you read it.

HOLOFERNES. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra

Ruminat-

and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as

the traveller doth of Venice:

Venetia, Venetia,

Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia.

Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not,

loves thee not-

Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.

Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather as

Horace says in his- What, my soul, verses?

NATHANIEL. Ay, sir, and very learned.

HOLOFERNES. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.

NATHANIEL. [Reads] 'If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to

love?

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed!

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;

Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed.

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,

Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend.

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;

Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire.

Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,

Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.

Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong,

That singes heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.'

HOLOFERNES. You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the accent:

let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified;

but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy,

caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, 'Naso' but for

smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of

invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the

ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin,

was this directed to you?

JAQUENETTA. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one of the strange

queen's lords.

HOLOFERNES. I will overglance the superscript: 'To the snow-white

hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.' I will look again on

the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party

writing to the person written unto: 'Your Ladyship's in all

desired employment, Berowne.' Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one

of the votaries with the King; and here he hath framed a letter

to a sequent of the stranger queen's which accidentally, or by

the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet;

deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King; it may

concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty. Adieu.

JAQUENETTA. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!

COSTARD. Have with thee, my girl.

Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA

NATHANIEL. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very

religiously; and, as a certain father saith-

HOLOFERNES. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable

colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir

Nathaniel?

NATHANIEL. Marvellous well for the pen.

HOLOFERNES. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of

mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify

the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the

parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben

venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned,

neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your

society.

NATHANIEL. And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the

happiness of life.

HOLOFERNES. And certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.

[To DULL] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay:

pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to

our recreation. Exeunt

SCENE III. The park

Enter BEROWNE, with a paper his band, alone

BEROWNE. The King he is hunting the deer: I am coursing myself. They have pitch'd a toil: I am tolling in a pitch- pitch that defiles. Defile! a foul word. Well, 'set thee down, sorrow!' for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I am the fool. Well proved, wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me- I a sheep. Well proved again o' my side. I will not love; if I do, hang me. I' faith, I will not. O, but her eye! By this light, but for her eye, I would not love her- yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan! [Climbs into a tree]

Enter the KING, with a paper

KING. Ay me!

BEROWNE. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd

him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!

KING. [Reads]

'So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,

As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows;

Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright

Through the transparent bosom of the deep,

As doth thy face through tears of mine give light.

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep;

No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.

Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will show.

But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep

My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.

O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel

No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.'

How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper-

Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

[Steps aside]

Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper

What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, car.

BEROWNE. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

LONGAVILLE. Ay me, I am forsworn!

BEROWNE. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.

KING. In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame!

BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name.

LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so?

BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;

Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,

The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.

LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.

O sweet Maria, empress of my love!

These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.

BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:

Disfigure not his slop.

LONGAVILLE. This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet]

'Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,

'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,

Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.

A woman I forswore; but I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:

My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;

Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.

Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is;

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,

Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is.

If broken, then it is no fault of mine;

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise

To lose an oath to win a paradise?'

BEROWNE. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity,

A green goose a goddess- pure, pure idolatry.

God amend us, God amend! We are much out o' th' way.

Enter DUMAIN, with a paper

LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?- Company! Stay.

[Steps aside]

BEROWNE. 'All hid, all hid'- an old infant play.

Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,

And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye.

More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!

Dumain transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish!

DUMAIN. O most divine Kate!

BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb!

DUMAIN. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!

BEROWNE. By earth, she is not, corporal: there you lie.

DUMAIN. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.

BEROWNE. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

DUMAIN. As upright as the cedar.

BEROWNE. Stoop, I say;

Her shoulder is with child.

DUMAIN. As fair as day.

BEROWNE. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

DUMAIN. O that I had my wish!

LONGAVILLE. And I had mine!

KING. And I mine too,.good Lord!

BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?

DUMAIN. I would forget her; but a fever she

Reigns in my blood, and will rememb'red be.

BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision

Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision!

DUMAIN. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.

BEROWNE. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

DUMAIN. [Reads]

'On a day-alack the day!-

Love, whose month is ever May,

Spied a blossom passing fair

Playing in the wanton air.

Through the velvet leaves the wind,

All unseen, can passage find;

That the lover, sick to death,

Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

"Air," quoth he "thy cheeks may blow;

Air, would I might triumph so!

But, alack, my hand is sworn

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn;

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.

Do not call it sin in me

That I am forsworn for thee;

Thou for whom Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiope were;

And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love."'

This will I send; and something else more plain

That shall express my true love's fasting pain.

O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville,

Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,

Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;

For none offend where all alike do dote.

LONGAVILLE. [Advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from charity,

That in love's grief desir'st society;

You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,

To be o'erheard and taken napping so.

KING. [Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his, your case is such.

You chide at him, offending twice as much:

You do not love Maria! Longaville

Did never sonnet for her sake compile;

Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart

His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.

I have been closely shrouded in this bush,

And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.

I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion,

Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.

'Ay me!' says one. 'O Jove!' the other cries.

One, her hairs were gold; crystal the other's eyes.

[To LONGAVILLE] You would for paradise break faith and troth;

[To Dumain] And Jove for your love would infringe an oath.

What will Berowne say when that he shall hear

Faith infringed which such zeal did swear?

How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit!

How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it!

For all the wealth that ever I did see,

I would not have him know so much by me.

BEROWNE. [Descending] Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy,

Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me.

Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove

These worms for loving, that art most in love?

Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears

There is no certain princess that appears;

You'll not be perjur'd; 'tis a hateful thing;

Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.

But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not,

All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?

You found his mote; the King your mote did see;

But I a beam do find in each of three.

O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen,

Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!

O, me, with what strict patience have I sat,

To see a king transformed to a gnat!

To see great Hercules whipping a gig,

And profound Solomon to tune a jig,

And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,

And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!

Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?

And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?

And where my liege's? All about the breast.

A caudle, ho!

KING. Too bitter is thy jest.

Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view?

BEROWNE. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you.

I that am honest, I that hold it sin

To break the vow I am engaged in;

I am betrayed by keeping company

With men like you, men of inconstancy.

When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?

Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time

In pruning me? When shall you hear that I

Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,

A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,

A leg, a limb-

KING. Soft! whither away so fast?

A true man or a thief that gallops so?

BEROWNE. I post from love; good lover, let me go.

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD

JAQUENETTA. God bless the King!

KING. What present hast thou there?

COSTARD. Some certain treason.

KING. What makes treason here?

COSTARD. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.

KING. If it mar nothing neither,

The treason and you go in peace away together.

JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read;

Our person misdoubts it: 'twas treason, he said.

KING. Berowne, read it over. [BEROWNE reads the letter]

Where hadst thou it?

JAQUENETTA. Of Costard.

KING. Where hadst thou it?

COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

[BEROWNE tears the letter]

KING. How now! What is in you? Why dost thou tear it?

BEROWNE. A toy, my liege, a toy! Your Grace needs not fear it.

LONGAVILLE. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear

it.

DUMAIN. It is Berowne's writing, and here is his name.

[Gathering up the pieces]

BEROWNE. [ To COSTARD] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born

to do me shame.

Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.

KING. What?

BEROWNE. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess;

He, he, and you- and you, my liege!- and I

Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.

O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

DUMAIN. Now the number is even.

BEROWNE. True, true, we are four.

Will these turtles be gone?

KING. Hence, sirs, away.

COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA

BEROWNE. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace!

As true we are as flesh and blood can be.

The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;

Young blood doth not obey an old decree.

We cannot cross the cause why we were born,

Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.

KING. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?

BEROWNE. 'Did they?' quoth you. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline

That, like a rude and savage man of Inde

At the first op'ning of the gorgeous east,

Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?

What peremptory eagle-sighted eye

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow

That is not blinded by her majesty?

KING. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now?

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;

She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.

BEROWNE. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne.

O, but for my love, day would turn to night!

Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek,

Where several worthies make one dignity,

Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.

Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues-

Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not!

To things of sale a seller's praise belongs:

She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.

A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,

Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.

Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.

O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine!

KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

BEROWNE. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!

A wife of such wood were felicity.

O, who can give an oath? Where is a book?

That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,

If that she learn not of her eye to look.

No face is fair that is not full so black.

KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,

The hue of dungeons, and the school of night;

And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.

BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.

O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt,

It mourns that painting and usurping hair

Should ravish doters with a false aspect;

And therefore is she born to make black fair.

Her favour turns the fashion of the days;

For native blood is counted painting now;

And therefore red that would avoid dispraise

Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.

DUMAIN. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.

LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright.

KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.

DUMAIN. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.

BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain

For fear their colours should be wash'd away.

KING. 'Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,

I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.

BEROWNE. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.

KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she.

DUMAIN. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.

LONGAVILLE. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her face see.

[Showing his shoe]

BEROWNE. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,

Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!

DUMAIN. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies

The street should see as she walk'd overhead.

KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love?

BEROWNE. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.

KING. Then leave this chat; and, good Berowne, now prove

Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

DUMAIN. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.

LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed;

Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil!

DUMAIN. Some salve for perjury.

BEROWNE. 'Tis more than need.

Have at you, then, affection's men-at-arms.

Consider what you first did swear unto:

To fast, to study, and to see no woman-

Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.

Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young,

And abstinence engenders maladies.

And, where that you you have vow'd to study, lords,

In that each of you have forsworn his book,

Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?

For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,

Have found the ground of study's excellence

Without the beauty of a woman's face?

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:

They are the ground, the books, the academes,

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.

Why, universal plodding poisons up

The nimble spirits in the arteries,

As motion and long-during action tires

The sinewy vigour of the traveller.

Now, for not looking on a woman's face,

You have in that forsworn the use of eyes,

And study too, the causer of your vow;

For where is author in the world

Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,

And where we are our learning likewise is;

Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,

With ourselves.

Do we not likewise see our learning there?

O, we have made a vow to study, lords,

And in that vow we have forsworn our books.

For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,

In leaden contemplation have found out

Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes

Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?

Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;

And therefore, finding barren practisers,

Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil;

But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,

Lives not alone immured in the brain,

But with the motion of all elements

Courses as swift as thought in every power,

And gives to every power a double power,

Above their functions and their offices.

It adds a precious seeing to the eye:

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind.

A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd.

Love's feeling is more soft and sensible

Than are the tender horns of cockled snails:

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.

For valour, is not Love a Hercules,

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?

Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical

As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair.

And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods

Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.

Never durst poet touch a pen to write

Until his ink were temp'red with Love's sighs;

O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,

And plant in tyrants mild humility.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive.

They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;

They are the books, the arts, the academes,

That show, contain, and nourish, all the world,

Else none at all in aught proves excellent.

Then fools you were these women to forswear;

Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.

For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love;

Or for Love's sake, a word that loves all men;

Or for men's sake, the authors of these women;

Or women's sake, by whom we men are men-

Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,

Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.

It is religion to be thus forsworn;

For charity itself fulfils the law,

And who can sever love from charity?

KING. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!

BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords;

Pell-mell, down with them! be first advis'd,

In conflict, that you get the sun of them.

LONGAVILLE. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by.

Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?

KING. And win them too; therefore let us devise

Some entertainment for them in their tents.

BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither;

Then homeward every man attach the hand

Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon

We will with some strange pastime solace them,

Such as the shortness of the time can shape;

For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,

Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.

KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted

That will betime, and may by us be fitted.

BEROWNE. Allons! allons! Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn,

And justice always whirls in equal measure.

Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;

If so, our copper buys no better treasure. Exeunt

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ACT V. SCENE I. The park

Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL

HOLOFERNES. Satis quod sufficit.

NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have

been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty

without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without

opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam

day with a companion of the King's who is intituled, nominated,

or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

HOLOFERNES. Novi hominem tanquam te. His humour is lofty, his

discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his

gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and

thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd,

as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet.

[Draws out his table-book]

HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than

the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes,

such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of

orthography, as to speak 'dout' fine, when he should say 'doubt';

'det' when he should pronounce 'debt'- d, e, b, t, not d, e, t.

He clepeth a calf 'cauf,' half 'hauf'; neighbour vocatur

'nebour'; 'neigh' abbreviated 'ne.' This is abhominable- which he

would call 'abbominable.' It insinuateth me of insanie: ne

intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.

NATHANIEL. Laus Deo, bone intelligo.

HOLOFERNES. 'Bone'?- 'bone' for 'bene.' Priscian a little

scratch'd; 'twill serve.

Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD

NATHANIEL. Videsne quis venit?

HOLOFERNES. Video, et gaudeo.

ARMADO. [To MOTH] Chirrah!

HOLOFERNES. Quare 'chirrah,' not 'sirrah'?

ARMADO. Men of peace, well encount'red.

HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation.

MOTH. [Aside to COSTARD] They have been at a great feast of

languages and stol'n the scraps.

COSTARD. O, they have liv'd long on the alms-basket of words. I

marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou are

not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus; thou art

easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.

MOTH. Peace! the peal begins.

ARMADO. [To HOLOFERNES] Monsieur, are you not lett'red?

MOTH. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a, b, spelt

backward with the horn on his head?

HOLOFERNES. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.

MOTH. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.

HOLOFERNES. Quis, quis, thou consonant?

MOTH. The third of the five vowels, if You repeat them; or the

fifth, if I.

HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: a, e, I-

MOTH. The sheep; the other two concludes it: o, U.

ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch,

a quick venue of wit- snip, snap, quick and home. It rejoiceth my

intellect. True wit!

MOTH. Offer'd by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.

HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure?

MOTH. Horns.

HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant; go whip thy gig.

MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your

infamy circum circa- a gig of a cuckold's horn.

COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it

to buy ginger-bread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had

of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of

discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but

my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to;

thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say.

HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin; 'dunghill' for unguem.

ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate; we will be singuled from the

barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the

top of the mountain?

HOLOFERNES. Or mons, the hill.

ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.

HOLOFERNES. I do, sans question.

ARMADO. Sir, it is the King's most sweet pleasure and affection to

congratulate the Princess at her pavilion, in the posteriors of

this day; which the rude multitude call the afternoon.

HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable,

congruent, and measurable, for the afternoon. The word is well

cull'd, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure.

ARMADO. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do

assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let

it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy. I beseech

thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most

serious designs, and of great import indeed, too- but let that

pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the

world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal

finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but,

sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable:

some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart

to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world;

but let that pass. The very all of all is- but, sweet heart, I do

implore secrecy- that the King would have me present the

Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show,

or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the

curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden

breaking-out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal,

to the end to crave your assistance.

HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies.

Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some

show in the posterior of this day, to be rend'red by our

assistance, the King's command, and this most gallant,

illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess- I say

none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.

NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?

HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself, Alexander; this gallant

gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great

limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules.

ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for that

Worthy's thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club.

HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in

minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I

will have an apology for that purpose.

MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may

cry 'Well done, Hercules; now thou crushest the snake!' That is

the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to

do it.

ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies?

HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself.

MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman!

ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing?

HOLOFERNES. We attend.

ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you,

follow.

HOLOFERNES. Via, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this

while.

DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir.

HOLOFERNES. Allons! we will employ thee.

DULL. I'll make one in a dance, or so, or I will play

On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away.

Exeunt